


I Second That Emotion

by missbecky



Category: Kingsman (Movies)
Genre: Domestic Fluff, Fluff, M/M, Marriage Proposal, Miscommunication, Non-TGC Compliant, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-25
Updated: 2018-07-25
Packaged: 2019-06-13 04:54:04
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 14,024
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15356688
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/missbecky/pseuds/missbecky
Summary: During a quiet night in, Harry hears Eggsy singing an old song about marriage and misinterprets this as a not-so-subtle hint. After an internal freakout, he realizes he would in fact love to be married to Eggsy. So he sets about creating the perfect proposal, never guessing that he's doing it all based on a misunderstanding.





	I Second That Emotion

**Author's Note:**

> So much love and thanks to my amazing artist [aetherlogic](http://aetherlogic.tumblr.com/), who cheered me on right from the start. I'm absolutely IN LOVE with their art, so please make sure you give them all the wonderful feedback they deserve!
> 
> Thank you to Sass for putting this enormous event together, to Mollie and Kelly for everything, and to everyone in this awesome fandom.
> 
> There is a link to the song lyrics Eggsy sings in the first quoted line, and another at the description of the ring.

Their new house has eighteen additional square feet than the one that once stood so proud in Stanhope Mews. With his youthful exuberance, Eggsy takes over every single inch of it. He doesn't even know he's doing it.

Harry couldn’t be more satisfied.

It’s not just the larger closet, giving them room for suits and casual clothes to hang side by side. Or the loft that is the perfect place to store childhood mementos. Or the slightly larger bathroom, the long counter space giving them room to get ready in the morning at the same time -- or it would, if they woke up at the same time instead of Eggsy sneaking in a lie-in while Harry has his shower.

No, what's satisfying is knowing that here is a place they’ve chosen together, a house they can both call home.

Before Kentucky, Harry had honestly thought he would live out the rest of his life in that white house in Stanhope Mews. Throughout the house he had carefully hidden away weapons and money in several different currencies, false IDs and burner phones. He had known all the exits, even the ones not on any formal set of blueprints. He had thought he was prepared for anything.

Pride goeth before the fall, as the saying goes.

He knows things could be a lot worse, though. He might have lost that white house, but he's found a new one. And he isn't living alone in this one.

Currently Eggsy is dusting. For a young man of a certain age, he is surprisingly neat, though he does have the incredibly annoying habit of just tossing his hoodie over the back of the couch instead of hanging it up in the front closet. But the rest of the time, he is quick to tidy up a mess, and though he usually grumbles about it, he does his share of the house cleaning without any real fuss.

Harry chalks that up to his life with Dean Baker in a tiny flat where he had hardly any space to call his own. Eggsy had to learn at an early age how to be frugal, both with money and with his room. No doubt he kept things neat so he would know where everything was at all times, to make it more obvious if and when Dean went through his things, looking for something that might be pawned or sold off.

It's a Sunday night, and Harry is ironing. It's a chore he doesn't mind; he's free to let his thoughts wander as steam rises from shirt sleeves and newly-pressed shirts join the ranks of the ones already finished. And by setting up the ironing board in the living room, as he did tonight, he can both watch television, and watch Eggsy.

Eggsy is oblivious to Harry's study, of course; if he were aware of it, Harry would hardly glance his way. Even now when they've been living together for three months and all of Kingsman knows about their relationship, he still has an inexplicable need to downplay things sometimes. As though the part of him that still can't believe this is real, that Eggsy is really here, is in control.

He knows how ridiculous that is. But he can't help it.

Tonight, though, Eggsy pays no attention to Harry. He's moving methodically through the living room, dustrag in hand. There are far less pictures on the walls of this house, but there are still enough. Together they have gone shopping for framed prints, and one by one new butterfly collections have arisen to take the place of the ones lost in Stanhope Mews.

Eggsy carefully glides the rag over a gilt frame. He's wearing jeans and a dark green button-down; his trainers were kicked off ages ago and he's in just his socks. His phone peeks out from one pocket of his jeans. The slim cord for a pair of wireless earbuds is draped across the back of his neck. Occasionally he sings under his breath to whatever music he's listening to, snatches of song that Harry can almost hear over the telly.

Without thinking about it, Harry lowers the volume on the TV. The programme isn't that interesting anyway; he only has it on because the news is starting in ten minutes. There was a time when he would have known the majority of the news reports well before the rest of the world, but like so many aspects of this new version of the agency, Kingsman's data gathering abilities is still not up to the old standard.

Still, these days they're doing better than they were. Between them Roxy and Merlin have almost single-handedly restored much of the agency's power. The shop on Savile Row has been open for a few weeks, but even before it opened to the public, the private rooms were turned into a small but functional version of Kingsman's new headquarters. Harry misses the old mansion where he spent thirty years as Galahad, but it will never be rebuilt. Percival is working on acquiring a new manor, having just recently settled on an acceptable substitute. Harry has only been out there once, but he approves of what he saw. The new manor is nearly as old and grand as the first one, but with some more modern touches. Best of all, it's closer to London and a quicker ride on the underground shuttle, which was fortunately undamaged in the attacks.

Eggsy hums a little as he sidles over to the next picture. The print is a seascape, bold blues and grays beneath a bronze sun almost hidden behind banks of storm clouds. The rag in his hand skims along the frame while Harry slides the iron along the collar of the shirt spread out before him. A cloud of steam rises from the ironing board.

"[If you got the notion](https://genius.com/Smokey-robinson-and-the-miracles-i-second-that-emotion-lyrics)," Eggsy sings. He whisks the rag along the frame, glances up at Harry and winks.

Harry smiles. He's helpless not to.

Eggsy returns his attention to the picture. He sings, "If you feel like giving me a lifetime of devotion, I second that emotion."

Harry freezes.

Completely oblivious, Eggsy goes on dusting. He doesn't sing any more of the song, though. He hums a little bit, then he falls silent.

Steam drifts upward from the iron. Harry stares at the back of Eggsy's neck, that place he loves to cup with his palm when they're kissing, and feels his heart start to race.

Harry’s been a spy most of his life. He’s well-versed in picking up subtle signals and understanding their meaning. This, however, was anything but subtle.

The iron sits forgotten by his hand. Eggsy hums a few notes, scratches absently at the back of his hand, and moves on to the end table.

They’ve never talked about it. Never discussed their future or been foolish enough to make plans. Nothing is forever in a spy’s life; the loss of that house they both had called home is proof of that. And lest he ever be tempted to forget, the loss of his eye and one year of his life is an even more bitter reminder.

 _Married?_ he thinks. It seems unfathomable.

He's been "married" before, of course, for the sake of a mission. He's been the hen-pecked husband, unable to make a decision on his own without first consulting his wife. He's been the cheating husband, full of remorse and crying after sex. He's been the middle-aged man having a midlife crisis, eager to recapture the glory of his lost youth.

None of it was real, of course. The phone calls to the pretend wife, the gold ring about his finger. The stories of a romantic proposal and an expensive wedding, details of married life both happy and unhappy. Fantasies all, and in most cases never needed except to flesh out the cover identity he wore for that particular mission.

But this. Married? To Eggsy?

Eggsy bends over the table he's dusting, too lazy to actually walk around it to better reach the other side. Harry watches the play of muscles in his back beneath the green shirt; he knows exactly how strong Eggsy is.

He never imagined he would end up here, in this cosy little house, living with someone half his age, so desperately in love it makes his heart seize in his chest to think he might not have it anymore. So why not take it a step further?

Why not get married?

The idea is both exhilarating and terrifying. There is a definite appeal to it, he can't deny that. A warm contentment that comes from imagining that he and Eggsy will have this kind of easy routine for the rest of their lives. But mostly Harry is just scared stiff at the thought.

Finally sensing that he is being watched, Eggsy lowers the rag and looks quizzically at Harry. “What’s up?”

Harry smiles. “I’m merely enjoying the view.”

Eggsy looks a bit amused, a bit baffled. “You got some kind of dusting kink I oughta know about?”

“I should hope not,” Harry replies, and that’s the end of that.

****

Still, he can’t get the incident out of his mind. All the rest of that evening, Harry keeps hearing that line of song, and remembering the way Eggsy winked at him.

He doesn’t let on, of course, and Eggsy remains thankfully oblivious. Harry is grateful for that; he was always good at concealing his thoughts, but somehow the skill doesn’t work very well when it comes to Eggsy. When he first returned to England and Kingsman, he had actually worried that everyone could see through him now. Merlin had set him straight pretty quickly, though, telling him in no simple terms that Eggsy was not only very observant but also head over heels in love and would Harry please just go away now so he could forget they ever had this conversation?

 _Married?_ he thinks as they begin the nightly ritual of going to bed. Harry checks the locks on the doors and windows while Eggsy takes Hamish out for his last walk of the night. He makes sure the coffeemaker is programmed to start at the correct time tomorrow morning, then sets the security system once Eggsy and the little terrier are back inside.

 _Married?_ he thinks as they head upstairs, Harry's hand lightly at Eggsy's back. It's a habit he fell into early, something he does without thinking. In much the same way, Eggsy somehow always ends up on Harry's right side, in his line of sight, a habit that requires no thought. 

They get ready for bed, Harry throwing back the covers, Eggsy twisting gracefully to one side to avoid walking into the footboard of the bed. Harry sets his watch and signet ring on top of his dresser. Eggsy plugs his phone into the nightstand to charge overnight. Harry brushes his teeth while Eggsy sends a last-minute text to someone. They pass each other as Harry leaves the bathroom, done for the night, while Eggsy goes in to brush his teeth. As they walk by, Eggsy leans in, Harry leans down, and they give each other a brief kiss.

 _Married?_ he thinks later in the dark, as their bodies find the rhythm that works so well for them both. It took some time to reach this state, to their chagrin. The harmony that came so naturally to them in battle was much longer to achieve in bed. There were several nights of bumped noses, elbows in ribs, and on one memorable occasion, Harry rolling over and pinning Eggsy's cock between his hip and the mattress. Eggsy had sworn so long and loudly that Harry had half-expected the police to show up, summoned by a worried phone call from the neighbours.

They can laugh about it now, of course. Eggsy in particular never misses an opportunity to waggle his cock and say Harry needs to kiss it and make it better. In return Harry rarely turns down the chance, though not without first observing that one of these days Eggsy really must stop using his accidental almost-maiming as an excuse. Eggsy always nods and agrees with a grin -- until the next time, when they cheerfully go through the same ridiculous but wonderful routine all over again.

 _Married_ , he thinks as they move in close afterward, all warmth and loose limbs, Eggsy's breathing a quiet companion in the darkness. Harry closes his eyes, already half-asleep, and thinks that yes, he could do this every day for the rest of his life.

He really could.

****

In the clear light of morning, however, he is less certain.

Eggsy's penchant for having a lie-in while Harry is in the shower seems less sweet today, and more like laziness. His reminder that Harry must be on time for his meeting with Merlin annoys him greatly, along with Eggsy's insistence on punctuality for all events, even those -- especially those -- Harry doesn't particularly want to attend. Before they leave the house for good, he goes to use the bathroom one last time, after Eggsy has done the same. He is greeted by water splashed on the counter and a rather foul smell, a crude reminder that sharing a life together isn't always romantic. After all, everyone shits. But no one writes poems or love songs about it.

Or at least Harry sincerely hopes they don't.

He is quiet on the walk to Savile Row. The new house is only an extra five minutes walk from the shop. Easy in pleasant weather, more aggravating when it's raining or cold, like today.

Eggsy is on his phone, texting with his mates, taking a picture of a dog they pass and sending it to his sister Daisy. Harry has met her twice now and both times he's been utterly charmed by her while striving to hide his absolute cluelessness when it comes to young children. So far Michelle Unwin has not consented to let them baby-sit Daisy, something Harry is secretly just fine with, though Eggsy has protested.

If they get married, Daisy will be his sister-in-law. At age three. It's a thought bizarre enough to nearly make Harry stumble as they step off the kerb and cross Old Bond Street.

Observant as ever, Eggsy says, "All right there?"

"Yes," Harry says crossly. He's not sure if he's more annoyed with himself for the misstep, or Eggsy for noticing.

They reach the shop without further incident, thankfully. It's not yet 8:00, and the front door is locked to the public. Eggsy punches in his security code and the door opens; they walk inside to the blissful heat within.

The shop looks nearly the same as it once did. Their customers wouldn't want it any other way, and frankly, neither would anyone at Kingsman. The tables are where they used to be, stacked with wool and linen. The fire burns on the hearth. The counter where Andrew stands, ready to greet everyone, is in its rightful place. Only the finer details are changed: the grandfather clock that isn't quite as antique as the original, the artwork that isn't exactly the same as the previous pieces, the leather couch that's actually a lot more comfortable than the other one.

The dining room where Arthur used to preside is half-full. Only Arthur himself died in the bombing attacks, and to date he has not been replaced. Upon his return to London Harry had announced rather loudly that he would be given the position over his dead body, a comment that had earned him a stricken look from Eggsy. He had apologised for the thoughtless remark, but the sentiment remained. He would not be Arthur.

None of the other knights want the title either, as it turns out. So at the moment, Kingsman is effectively a democracy. It won't last, Harry knows. For now the surviving agents are focused on simply surviving and restoring what they lost. But sooner or later an issue will arise that will divide them and set them on opposites sides. They'll want an Arthur then, if only so the rest of them are spared the responsibility of making a decision.

Though that's perhaps not so certain. Eggsy has said that the longer they go on this way, with everyone having an equal voice in matters, the less likely they are to want to go back to the old ways. Harry has to admit Eggsy has a point; nonetheless he is fairly sure that there will eventually be another Arthur. He is also fairly sure it will be Merlin's fate, a fact Merlin seems to know too, much to Hamish's annoyance -- he wants the position only slightly less than Harry does.

But Harry is adamant. He will not be Arthur. He is Galahad, and he always will be. He held that title for far too long to give it up, even to Eggsy. Eggsy did well as Galahad, but he must create his own knighthood, choose his own title. So far the issue has not come up, as they are not going out on missions yet, but that time will come. And when it does, Harry knows it will be their first major row since their reunion in Kentucky.

He isn't looking forward to it.

That day, though, is still far in the future. Or so he hopes. Today is just a routine meeting, a chance to go over the latest news. Lamorak and Bors will be reporting from the distillery in Scotland, and Lancelot has just returned from the tech branch Berlin.

Merlin is at the far end of the room, holding his clipboard. It's not the same one, of course, but there were plenty more where that came from. He looks impatient, ready to begin the meeting.

Harry slides into his accustomed chair. Eggsy takes the seat on his right. There is a pitcher of water on the table along with some cut-crystal glasses, but nobody pours themselves a drink.

"Gentlemen," Merlin says. He doesn't raise his voice; he doesn't have to. "Shall we get started?"

The others take their seats, Percival last to pull up to the table. The hologram images of Lamorak and Bors shimmer faint blue; for a split second the edges almost scatter into butterflies, then Harry blinks and the ghostly figures steady and settle.

The meeting itself does not last long. Lamorak and Bors give their report on the distillery. Lancelot has a sample of the latest and greatest from Berlin: a tie pin that doubles as both a lock pick and a jamming device. Percival reports on his latest meeting with the estate agent and says he is confident that the manor house destined to be their new HQ will officially belong to Kingsman within a couple weeks. Merlin provides them with the shop's sales records, then opens the floor to questions. He waits expectantly, but when no one speaks up, he declares the meeting over.

They all rise, some quicker than others. Eggsy is eager to try out the lock pick in the tie pin, and Roxy hands it to him with a smile. The other knights filter toward the door, and soon Harry is the only one remaining in the dining room.

"I'd like a word," he says.

"Sure," Merlin says. He gestures to the chair Harry just vacated. 

In a moment Eggsy will realise he is alone out there with Roxy, and return, so Harry just sits and waits for it.

Sure enough, the door opens thirty seconds later and Eggsy peeks in. "Oi, you coming?"

"In a moment," Harry says.

Eggsy glances from him to Merlin and back again. For a moment his eyes narrow as he tries to sort out what this private discussion could mean, then he nods. "Yeah, okay. Catch you later?"

Harry smiles. "Of course."

The door closes and Harry turns to his closest friend. In the months since Poppyland, Merlin has become more lean, and there are new lines etched on his face that were not there before. But he is as strong as ever, perhaps more so, having been tested and come through to the other side.

"I think Eggsy wants to get married," Harry says.

Merlin's eyes widen. "And why do you say that?"

Harry hesitates. He's not entirely sure how to answer that.

"Did he say something?" Merlin asks.

"Not precisely," Harry says. Technically it's true. Eggsy didn't actually _say_ it.

Merlin exhales slowly. "Then how exactly did you come by this information?"

Harry knows that tone. He's heard it a hundred times in debriefing sessions, in pre-mission meetings, in his ear. It's the tone Merlin gets when he's challenging someone to convince him.

That's a challenge Harry can meet, even though he knows full well how ridiculous his response will sound. "Because he sang it to me."

Merlin just stares.

He has to explain that absurd statement, Harry knows. But how to explain the way Eggsy winked and smiled at him, the clear sound of those words ringing in his ears, the obvious reason why Eggsy sang them -- and only them – aloud.

He does his best. "Last night, Eggsy was listening to some music. Not that dreadful modern stuff masquerading as music, apparently, but old soul. Smokey Robinson, _I Second That Emotion_ , to be precise."

Merlin nods appreciatively, but does not say anything.

"And he looked right at me and sang the chorus," Harry says. "But only those words." It sounds worse and worse, the further he gets into his story. He wishes that he hadn't said anything at all. Whatever possessed him to open up like this to Merlin, he hopes mightily it will never happen again.

There is a very long, very awkward silence while Merlin sits there frowning, his gaze turned inward; Harry knows he’s playing the song in his head, trying to find the line that prompted all this. It’s obvious when he gets there; his eyes widen a little and he nods slightly in comprehension.

Merlin says, "You do realise you've gone mental, right?"

Harry sits up straight, like he's been stung. "Oh, piss off if you're not going to be any help."

"I'm sorry, but I really don't see what all the fuss is about," Merlin says.

Of course he wouldn't. He wasn't there. He didn't see Eggsy wink, or the light in Eggsy's blue eyes as he sang those words. "You don't think there's anything even slightly suspicious about why he chose to sing that line to me?"

"Harry." Merlin sighs heavily, the long-suffering sigh of a friend who has witnessed his other friend do some spectacularly stupid things over the years. "Sometimes a song is just a song."

"Not this time," Harry insists.

"You've been a spy too long," Merlin says. "Trained to read into every statement, question everything you hear. But I can promise you –"

"I'm going to marry him," Harry announces.

Merlin's mouth audibly snaps shut.

"Oh, don't look at me like that," Harry says irritably. He stands up, and immediately feels better. More confident. More certain.

"I would do it even if I hadn't heard him last night," he says. "In case it's escaped your notice, I do love him. And for some reason I can't fathom, he loves me."

Merlin's face softens. "I do know that," he says. "And I'm happy for you both, truly I am. But don't you think you might be rushing into this? You've only been together for three months. And there are practical matters to be addressed."

"I left him standing in my downstairs bathroom thinking I was disappointed in him," Harry says. He tries hard not to be angry, or to hate himself, the way he always does when he remembers that awful day. "And then I lost a year of my life. Do you really think I'm the best person to be lecturing about rushing into things?" He breathes in deep. "No, Merlin. I'm going to marry Eggsy."

Some of his confidence deflates, though, as he realises the enormity of that statement, and everything that must be done first. It's clear that this is something Eggsy wants, too, but Harry is determined to do it right. This is not something that can simply "happen." He can't just ask Eggsy as casually as Eggsy dropped his hint. There is protocol to be followed here, traditions to be observed.

Most importantly, there is Eggsy's heart to be cherished.

Harry looks at Merlin. "However, I might need your help first."

****

Harry considers himself a practical man, well-versed in the ways of the world. He is a few years past his fiftieth birthday, and he has been a spy for over half his life. He is by no means someone who acts like a lovestruck teenager.

How annoying, then, that so often this is exactly how he feels when he is around Eggsy Unwin.

There is something about Eggsy that defies description. Eggsy cannot be easily made to fit into the tidy boxes people use to define their lives. He is both violent and gentle, a lover and a killer, young and old, fiercely intelligent and oddly naïve. He is perfectly happy sitting around in an old T-shirt with a hole at the shoulder seam, playing video games and eating disgusting cold pizza. But he seems equally happy to put on a suit and go to a posh restaurant with Harry where they linger over five courses and amazing wine before walking down Haymarket to see a theatre show. In public he is professional and keeps a safe distance, no holding hands or kisses. At home he is free with his touch and his kiss, his face settled into an expression of soft affection.

It's fair to say Harry loves him more than life itself.

And so he wants to do this right. Eggsy deserves a proper proposal, a wedding that he can be proud of.

The problem, of course, is Harry has no idea how to go about any of that.

He spends a day or two just trying to find the opportunity to really think about it. It's not easy to find the time; for two men who are as busy as they are, suddenly it seems like he and Eggsy are rarely separated.

But the chance does present itself eventually. The loss of the mansion that served as Kingsman HQ also means the loss of other things. Left with no other option, Eggsy has joined a public gym in order to maintain the level of fitness required of a Kingsman agent. Though he groans about it, he dutifully visits three times a week.

Harry joined, too, but he goes less often. He prefers to run, a solitary activity that has always appealed to him. It lets him keep an eye on the neighbourhood and hone his observational skills. And on a chilly but bright Thursday afternoon, it gives him the perfect chance to mull over his situation with no interruptions.

One thing he has already decided. He will not honour the old tradition of asking permission before the proposal. For one thing, nobody "owns" Eggsy, and the act of asking would demean them both. But mostly Harry doesn't want to do this because Michelle Unwin does not trust him yet, or even like him very much. And though he is fairly certain she wouldn't deny Eggsy a chance to be happy and say no, he isn't about to risk it. Far better to simply avoid the question altogether, and move on.

He considers telling her, though. Giving her some advance notice so she knows what's coming. It might be the fair thing to do. But he can't for the life of him work out how to do it. As he runs through the increasingly familiar streets of this new neighbourhood, Harry ponders his relationship with Michelle Unwin.

Whenever they are together, they are unfailingly polite to each other. Please and thank you and a perfect display of courtesy and manners. But it is crystal clear to Harry that Michelle distrusts him, especially when it comes to Eggsy.

That is perhaps one of the few good things to result from Kingsman not being back on its feet yet. With no missions to run, no world to save, Eggsy has yet to come back to Michelle with a black eye or any other sign of the dangers he faces daily as a Kingsman knight. Harry has no doubt whatsoever that at the first hint of any injury Eggsy incurs, she will level all the blame at himself, not whoever was actually responsible. No matter how it happens, it will be his fault that Eggsy is hurt.

And when you come right down to it, she will be right to think so.

Harry turns the corner, checks the traffic automatically, and makes a mental note not to talk to Michelle Unwin. About anything.

With no awkward meeting to arrange beforehand, that leaves him free to plan the proposal itself. He wants it to be romantic but not over the top. He would definitely like for Eggsy to be surprised, even though after such a heavy hint, Eggsy must surely be expecting – or hoping – for this.

But though Eggsy might have hopes, he definitely won't know what to expect. Or when. Or how. That is where Harry can truly surprise him.

No active missions does not mean their lives are simple right now. Theirs will never be a straightforward nine-to-five job with a lunch break in the middle. There are trips to Berlin and to the distillery in Scotland. Twice Eggsy has returned to Statesman, though each time he has gone alone; Harry has flatly refused to return to Kentucky. Nonetheless, they have managed to create at least a semblance of routine. Which means Harry can predict with fairly good certainty where Eggsy will be at any given time on any given day.

He would like the proposal to be just part of a larger plan. Something involving dinner, perhaps. A means of celebrating what just transpired between them. A way for Eggsy to show off his—

Harry comes to a sudden halt, his run only half-finished. He's breathing hard but not really sweating; the day is cool enough that he hasn't got too warm yet. All around him the life of the city goes on, cars and buses driving by, pedestrians walking to their destination. Most walk right by him, ignoring him completely. Only one old lady out walking her dog is close enough to hear Harry's quiet but very precise, "Oh fuck."

He completely forgot about a ring.

Instantly a host of questions assail him. Do young men even _want_ engagement rings? Is it a problem? Is it uncool? Then there is the nature of their job to consider. Eggsy might not be going on missions right now, but eventually he will be. Though by then, of course, the ring in question will probably be an actual wedding ring. Whether they wear a ring then will be up to the parameters of the mission itself: if an undercover role is required, or a particular level of danger, or certain physical activities where wearing a ring would be uncomfortable.

Harry sighs and starts running again, though at a slower speed than before. These are all questions he will just have to deal with down the road. It's no good speculating about what the new Kingsman will be like. All he has is what's going on right now.

And right now he would very much like to give Eggsy a ring.

****

Finding the right ring, however, turns out to be easier said than done. For one thing, it's difficult to find the time to shop for one without letting Eggsy know. There's only so much that can be done over the Internet, after all; no amount of photos on a website can substitute for the real thing.

So Harry finds himself enlisting Lancelot's help.

He waits for a day when Eggsy has gone to Lock and Co. to deliver a new set of the trackers Kingsman leaves with the hatters for when certain surveillance missions are required. It's a simple task that won't take long, but it's long enough for Harry to approach Roxy Morton and ask if they can talk.

Roxy hardly bats an eye, though she's obviously surprised. With so much to be done to restore Kingsman, there hasn't been much opportunity for the two of them to really get to know each other. Eggsy clearly wants them to be friends, and Harry would like that as well, but for now they remain respectful colleagues and little more.

He suspects that's all about to change, though.

The two of them retire to one of the empty rooms above the shop. In days gone by it used to be a spare room for any agent who found themselves unable to go home for some reason and in need of a safe place for the night. Currently there is nothing in here but the lingering smell of fresh paint, an old rubbish bin in the corner, and a scarred dress form missing an arm.

"How can I help you?" Roxy asks politely.

"It's about Eggsy," Harry says. He watches the way her spine stiffens ever so slightly, the way her chin comes up. She's ready to fight, to defend. He's pleased to see that, to know that Eggsy has someone as capable as Roxy Morton at his back. "I need your help with something."

"Of course," Roxy says.

"But you mustn't tell Eggsy," Harry says.

Roxy's eyes narrow a fraction. She's obviously considering this condition carefully. Harry's respect for her goes up even more. That she should value her friendship with Eggsy enough not to jeopardise it over an unasked-for secret speaks volumes for her character. "And why not?" she finally asks.

"Because I intend to propose marriage to him," Harry says, and has the unexpected pleasure of watching Roxy's eyes widen and colour rise to her cheeks. "And I wish it to remain a surprise."

"Oh!" Roxy exclaims. In that moment the Kingsman agent is gone. She is just a young woman then, excited for her friend, filled with joy. If they knew each other even just a little bit better, Harry knows she would hug him now.

"I need you to keep him occupied one afternoon so I can go shopping for a ring," Harry says. "Can you do that?"

"Of course," Roxy says. She's sobering up again, but her eyes still shine with happiness. "When do you need to go? And for how long?"

She is all business now, a Kingsman agent requiring the details on her pre-mission debrief. Harry has absolutely no doubt that she will keep Eggsy's attention for however long he should need, and in such a way that Eggsy will never even realise how cleverly they were kept apart during that time.

"Thursday afternoon will be fine," Harry says. That's two days from now. He should have plenty of time to sneak in some more Internet shopping before then. "Perhaps a long lunch?"

Roxy smiles, an expression that is actually closer to a smirk. "A _very_ long lunch, I should think. Possibly followed by an attack of indigestion that requires an escort to my flat."

Harry smiles back and nods; he appreciates her ability to come up with a cover story on the spot. Nothing too flashy, either, that might set off any warning bells in Eggsy's far too clever mind. "That should work quite well."

"Right," Roxy says. "Consider it done." She hesitates, then adds, "And Harry? Congratulations." This time her smile is warm and genuine.

Harry smiles back in kind. "Thank you," he says. "For everything."

****

Despite Eggsy's observant nature when it comes to Harry, he doesn't seem to suspect a thing. Harry credits the years he's been a spy to his success, and the old paranoid habits of a lifetime. He wipes his Internet history after every search, and is always careful to set the laptop down exactly where he left it, so there can be no way to tell it was just used. Three times as they watch TV, an advert comes on for a jeweller; Harry watches Eggsy carefully, looking for any kind of reaction, but Eggsy pays no attention to the adverts, and instead spends the time texting his friends.

Wednesday night, as they clean up from dinner, Eggsy says, "Me and Rox are having lunch tomorrow. You want to come?"

Harry freezes. This is something he didn't anticipate. But he smooths over the hesitation, pretending he's merely examining a dirty plate before sliding it into the proper slot in the dishwasher. "Actually," he says, "I was planning to do lunch with Merlin."

"Oh," Eggsy says. He shrugs, then finishes scraping the crumbs off his plate into the bin. "Okay."

"Some other time, though," Harry says. "I would like to get to know Roxy a little better."

Eggsy hands him the plate. "She's aces, really she is."

"She must be," Harry says, and it's only years of training that keeps the smile from cracking his mild exterior.

****

He does in fact have lunch with Merlin, so to preserve his cover story, but it is a hasty affair, and rather unsatisfying. Harry finishes his sandwich, excuses himself, and heads out into the grey afternoon to buy the ring he intends to offer Eggsy.

He found it yesterday evening when Eggsy was at the gym. He was supposed to be out running then, but he stayed in, making one last search online. He thought he knew then what he wanted, but as soon as he saw this other ring, he knew his search was over.

The shop has it, which is fortunate. All day he had fretted that they might not have it in stock; but his worries turn out to be groundless. The ring sits in a display case, nestled in a bed of black velvet. Eggsy's engagement ring.

Like Eggsy himself, [the ring is deceptively simple](https://www.helzberg.com/product/platinum+diamond+band+1998793.do?sortby=bestSellersAscend&page=3&catId=8867&from=fn). Made of platinum, it features two silver bands around the outer edges, a blend of two beautiful metals, old and new. Inset is a small but flawless diamond, the pure heart of the ring, something not easily seen from an outside viewpoint, but once glimpsed can never be forgotten.

The clerk who assists him is taken aback at first that Harry is buying a ring for another man, but he quickly recovers. His smiles seem a trifle forced, but Harry ignores that. He doesn't care what the clerk, or anyone, thinks.

"Would you like it engraved?" the clerk asks.

Harry thinks about this, and not for the first time. During his hunt for the perfect ring he's considered and rejected multiple ideas, mostly because they are either too absurd, too sappy, or too long to fit on the surface of a ring. For a while he considered a capital K, to signify the thing that brought them together, but eventually he rejected that idea as well. He doesn't want Eggsy to think Kingsman is the only thing binding them together; he would gladly spend the rest of his life with Eggsy under any circumstances.

"A date, perhaps?" the clerk suggests.

This is a new idea. Harry mulls this over. He could have the date they met engraved on the ring. The date he fell in love with Eggsy. Standing there in front of that mirror in fitting room one. Watching with bemusement as Eggsy admitted to knowing _My Fair Lady_. Realising that in a single instant, he had just lost his heart.

"Yes," he says. "That's a good idea."

The clerk smiles, and it's a bit more real this time. "What will it be?"

Harry gives him the date, a cold, clear day from last winter. A day when he got the phone call he never thought he would get. A day when he pulled strings and called in favours owed. A day when he stood in the winter sunshine outside the Holborn police station and waited for Eggsy to appear. Never suspecting that he was about to meet the only person he would ever truly love.

"It will be a week for the engraving," the clerk says. Harry nods, and hopes his disappointment doesn't show. A week isn't a long time to wait – except when it is.

"And how will you be paying?" the clerk asks.

Harry pulls out his billfold. It was a long, aggravating process to get his frozen assets restored to him, to prove to the government that he was not dead but in fact very much alive. That unlike so many who had gone missing on V-Day, he was not lying in an unmarked grave, that he had been away, his memory as absent as he himself was.

But his bank accounts are his own once more and all the money he's earned over the years. Even after paying for half of the new house, he still has more than enough to pay cash for this ring. And it's better this way. There will be no entry on a credit card statement, nothing to give himself away.

Not that he would ever expect Eggsy to snoop around and look at his credit card statements. He knows that would never happen. But Harry can't help it. He's a spy. It's second nature to him to cover his tracks, to make sure there are no dangling loose ends that might give him away. So he pays cash for the ring, and he doesn't think twice about it.

He leaves the shop empty-handed, but with a promise to return in a week and pick up the engraved ring. He will have to come up with another excuse to get away then, but as that should be a shorter trip, it won't require keeping Eggsy away all afternoon. Just an hour should do it.

Harry breathes deep as he steps out into the London afternoon.

One thing down.

****

The next big decision is where he will do the proposal. Doing such a thing in public is risky, and not just because of how people might react to two men getting engaged. Despite his performance with that song, there is always a chance Eggsy might say no and embarrass them both; certainly Harry can think of enough reasons to turn himself down.

So a private proposal it will be.

The question is where. At home is a safe bet, and it allows for a more private celebration afterward. But Harry had to admit that he's rather reluctant to go that route, though he's hard-pressed to say why.

Maybe it's because Eggsy himself is not a safe bet. He's always willing to take a risk, though oddly enough he seems to have become less prone to doing so since becoming a Kingsman. More importantly, though, Eggsy deserves something exciting, something memorable, something to give them both a story to tell for years to come.

The answer presents itself one morning, so simple and easy that Harry is chagrined he didn’t think of it himself.

It’s Friday, and though the day is gloomy and grey, Eggsy is in high spirits. He gives Harry a swift kiss as he walks by on his way to the dining room table. “Supposed to clear up tomorrow. We should go to the park, yeah?”

The small square of green is hardly a true park, but it’s one of the reasons they bought this house. Nestled at the center of the neighbourhood, it’s a private area for residents only. There is a little garden, a swing set for children, and a couple benches set along a shaded path. They’ve taken Daisy there once before, but mostly they just go to enjoy some peace and quiet. Sometimes they’ll bring tablets and laptops and work, but more often they just take a few precious moments to be still.

Harry loves those occasions. After spending a year as a virtual prisoner at Statesman, he can never get enough of the outdoors. Even the cold, smoggy air of London is vastly preferable to the padded walls of his former “home.”

And Eggsy is beautiful outside. Whether it’s the sun on his hair or a flush of cold on his cheeks, Harry always wants to kiss him breathless then.

“A good idea,” he says now. And not just because he would very much like to visit the little park, share a quick kiss with Eggsy beneath the tree at the end of the path.

No, he’s already in surveillance mode. The trip tomorrow will be a chance to figure out the perfect place for his proposal.

****

Saturday is cold but full of sunshine. They walk down the lane toward the little park, not talking. Winter wind sends fallen leaves scudding along the kerb, and makes a mess of Harry's hair.

He doesn't mind.

They have the park to themselves, which isn't unusual. Not many people come here even on a warm summer's day. They follow the path, still in companionable silence. It's one of the many things Harry loves about Eggsy, the way they can share each other's company and not need to fill the silence with words all the time.

Sometimes it's enough just to be together.

As they walk along, heading for the tall oak tree at the end of the path, Eggsy sways a little bit closer. Their arms brush. Harry glances over and sees the faint question on Eggsy's face.

They walk on, holding hands this time. It's a bit of a calculated risk, but Harry judges it's safe enough. They're far enough along the path that they'll be able to see anyone coming in time to pull away and avoid any potentially unpleasant situation. It's a sad fact of their life together that this is something they have to watch out for, but it's a danger Harry is more than willing to endure if it means Eggsy is at his side.

"How is your mother?" Harry asks politely. Last night Eggsy visited her for a little bit, though he didn't stay long.

"Good," Eggsy replies. "She's really liking her new job. And it's close enough she can go home at lunch and check on Daisy."

Harry nods. He knows Daisy is given into the care of a neighbour during the day, a decision Michelle Unwin agonised over for quite some time before finally surrendering to the inevitable. Something happened to her on V-Day, something Eggsy will not talk about. Since she was alone at the time with her young daughter, it isn't hard to guess what that something is, though.

The path curves gently through the park; as they walk along the wide lane, their goal comes in sight. A wooden bench sits beneath the oak, a reward for all those who made this far down the decidedly unstrenuous trek. The tree is tall enough that in summer the bench is shaded by its branches. Today, though, it is ablaze in October scarlet. 

They sit down on the bench; Harry's taken to bringing a handkerchief on these trips so he can wipe off any moisture from rain or dew, but today that isn't necessary. It's cool out, but otherwise it really is a lovely day.

"You been quiet lately," Eggsy says. 

Harry is startled. "Have I?" He is also somewhat alarmed; if he acts too oddly, Eggsy might guess his intentions and ruin the surprise.

"You ain't seeing butterflies again, are you?" Eggsy asks anxiously. 

"Don't be ridiculous," Harry snaps. It's been over a month since the last incident, and he thinks it's safe to say that it was also truly the last.

"You would tell me if you did, right?" Eggsy prompts. 

Harry tries not to sigh. "I would." Though only because he promised Eggsy that he would, a promise he has thankfully not had to break. 

"Okay," Eggsy says, and the matter is dropped. Life has taught him, and rather cruelly, to be wary of most things, but his trust in Harry remains unshakable. "So what is it then?"

Harry hesitates a moment, seeking a way to frame his response so it's not actually a lie. "I suppose I've been thinking about our future," he says.

Eggsy doesn't move, but there is suddenly a heavy tension hanging in the space between them. Harry senses it and his quiet alarm only intensifies; if he isn't careful right now he will completely give himself away. 

"I'm concerned about Kingsman," he says. "I know we're all doing our best, but I am honestly not sure if we will ever fully regain our ability to do our jobs." This is true, inasmuch as he had this conversation with Merlin shortly after their return to England. His doubts have been largely laid to rest since then, but not without first being forced to accept that his "job" for the unforseeable future is not to be a Kingsman agent, but a builder. 

"We will," Eggsy says stoutly. "It's just gonna take time, that's all." He speaks as though he too isn't chafing at the innumerable obstacles and delays. He is impatient to wear the suit again, to put on the glasses and hear a voice in his ear, to get out there and save the world.

"I know," Harry says. He gives Eggsy an encouraging smile, like Eggsy is the one in need of cheering up. 

"Still fucking sucks, though," Eggsy says, and Harry ducks his head in quiet laughter. 

They sit in warm silence for a while, just enjoying the morning. Harry looks around at the park with new interest, and decides that yes, the oak's trunk is wide enough to hide a cooler containing a bottle of gin and two martini glasses. 

Eggsy turns sideways on the bench and slumps down. He dangles his legs over the wooden armrest and rests the back of his head on Harry's shoulder. He sighs, loud and content. 

Harry reaches his left hand across his body and is met with Eggsy's reaching fingers. Their clasped hands rest on Harry's thigh. Occasionally Harry brushes his thumb over the back of Eggsy's hand.

He closes his eye and imagines the scene here a week from now. He smiles.

****

On Tuesday Harry goes out to what will eventually be their new HQ. The house is slightly smaller than the old one, but only aboveground. Beneath the surface, where it matters, they actually have more room than before.

Portions of the manor are nearly complete; others are more skeletal. Various work crews are on site, almost none of whom belong to actual British contractors. Kingsman has used such companies in the past, though not one of them really knew what they were working on, or what the real purpose of their work was.

The people on site today are all here because they owe Kingsman in some way or another. Most of them were saved from situations where death or a life in prison was all they had to look forward so. Some are former informants who had to run when their country's government found out what they were doing. Some were an assassin's target. Harry doesn't know most of them, though there are a couple familiar faces among the strangers. He nods a greeting to the ones he knows, then moves on.

Alistair doesn't waste time on greetings; he just gets right to it. He's been out here from the very day he was released from hospital, wobbly on his feet but absolutely dedicated to putting Kingsman to rights again. Like Harry and Eggsy, he is tired of being simply Alistair, wants to be Percival again. And there is only one way to accomplish that.

"I've got a crew on the third floor I can't understand," Alistair says. "I think one of them is yours."

Harry just nods. Every agent has their own strengths, and one of his happens to be languages. It's something he's never really had to work at; words and grammar just come to him, foreign languages falling off his tongue as easily as his native English. It's also something he kept secret from Statesman, even though he had promised Ginger he would tell her if he ever remembered something about himself, something that might help establish his identity.

It had come to him one day while he was reading a book on butterflies. The author had included a snippet of a report written by a French lepidopterist. The report was shared in the original French, and a translation followed. Harry had read the French words without hesitation, and only as he reached the translation -- which was not entirely accurate -- had he realised what had just happened.

That night, lying there in his tiny room, he had gone through his memory and finally decided that he knew the word for "butterfly" in twelve different languages. He hadn't known what to do with that information, but he had known immediately that he would keep it to himself. In that tiny room where the only privacy he ever had was while sitting on the toilet, the thought of hoarding knowledge about himself had seemed a thrilling novelty.

Now all those languages are there again, his to command. He spends an hour with the Hungarians doing the wiring, adding a few items that are not to be found on any normal set of blueprints. When he's finished he has a scratch down the side of his left index finger, and the new Kingsman HQ has the wiring for their security system installed in what will eventually be the new barracks.

Satisfied with the results, Harry takes his time returning to London. He told Eggsy he wouldn't be home until dinner time, which gives him a couple hours leeway. More than enough time to visit the jeweller's and pick up Eggsy's engagement ring.

The engraving is exactly what he had hoped for. The date he and Eggsy met for keeps, a cold winter day outside Holborn Station, a morning drink at The Black Prince unlike any other. The numbers are in a curved script that stops short of being too much, an elegant font Harry approves of.

"You're happy with it?" the clerk asks.

Harry smiles. "Very much so."

****

On his way home Harry gets a bottle of gin. He hides it beneath the mattress in the guest room, turns the icemaker on, and that's it, then. He's got everything he needs.

Everything but his courage, that is.

It's been dark for a couple hours by the time Eggsy comes home. He smells of the cold, the city, the chalk he's been using at the tailor shop as he sews one of his new bulletproof suits. He takes off his coat and gives Harry a kiss, but it's absent, merely a habit.

Harry doesn't mind. In fact, he rather loves that, that their kiss of greeting has become so commonplace they don't think about it anymore. It means they are settled, that they have developed a routine, that they truly are sharing this life together.

"Everything go okay?" he asks.

Eggsy frowns as he takes a bottle of water out of the fridge. "Yeah," he says. "Merlin got a call from Champ. They want to send Tequila over to help us out."

Harry stiffens a little. He will never like Agent Tequila, or Champ, or any of them at Statesman. But he would be remiss to let his prejudices stand in the way, especially if the Americans can truly assist with Kingsman's restoration. "What did Merlin say?"

"He'll think about it," Eggsy says. He takes a long swallow from his water bottle, his throat working.

Harry nods a little. Merlin shares many of his misapprehensions about Statesman, although he is also pragmatic enough that he will probably accept Champ's offer.

"Have you eaten?"

Eggsy shakes his head. "Nope." He opens the fridge again. "Whatta we got?"

Harry looks at him, at the hair so perfectly styled, the mole on his throat, the strong hand grasping the door of the refrigerator. He has never loved anyone like he loves Eggsy Unwin. And for a crazy moment he actually considers just going upstairs and getting the ring and proposing to Eggsy right here and now. He doesn't _need_ any of those other things, after all. The only thing he needs is Eggsy himself, standing right here, while Harry's heart feels too full for his chest. 

Then Eggsy sighs and slams the refrigerator door shut, and Harry returns to reality with a thud. 

"I guess we could do takeaway?" Eggsy asks.

"I guess we could," Harry says.

****

The rest of the week seems to drag by. Harry resists the urge to creep into the guest room and check on the ring; he has no reason to think Eggsy suspects anything is up, but the surest way to change all that is to sneak around and get caught. Instead he quietly makes one set of plans after another, backups and contingencies, escape routes and strategies. Everything he ever learned as a spy he puts into effect now.

He knows he's being ridiculous. But that doesn't stop him.

****

Friday morning is grey and foggy. Harry wakes up first, as usual. He rolls onto his right side so he can look better at Eggsy, who is still asleep. In the dawn light, nothing can be seen of Eggsy except a mound of bedcovers and a tumbled mess of brown hair. He is facing away from Harry, one arm thrust beneath the pillow, one foot crooked back against Harry's leg.

Harry smiles. Tomorrow when he wakes up and he looks over at Eggsy, he will see a ring on Eggsy's finger.

If all goes according to plan, that is.

The thought sobers him up. He has a lot to do today, so he better get started.

The satellites are all still in orbit of course, but the computer networks that connected Kingsman were lost along with the old manor. They still wear their glasses, but for now they are purely ornamental. So when Eggsy steps in the shower, Harry does not contact Merlin in the old way, but via a text.

_I need you to keep Eggsy occupied this afternoon._

The answer comes back almost right away; Merlin is never far from any type of communication. _For how long?_

Harry relaxes a little. He hadn't expected Merlin to ask annoying questions, asking why he needed such a favour, because that's not Merlin's way. But it's still a relief.

_Until 3:00 at least. 4;00 if you can manage it. But I need him able to leave when I call. Also we need to have lunch together, the three of us. Lancelot too if she is available._

This time there is a bit of a pause before Merlin responds. _That can be arranged._

 _Thank you,_ Harry writes back. Then he deletes the incriminating texts and starts buttoning up his shirt.

It's not terribly nice, this plan of his. But he needs an excuse to both leave early for the day, and for Eggsy to remain well out of the way until the appointed time. About an hour after their lunch, he will call Eggsy and say that he is not feeling well. Just a stomach ache, he'll say. Nothing to worry Eggsy overly much, but the perfect excuse to say he is going home for the day. And with Eggsy safely occupied with whatever task Merlin will assign him, Harry will be free to make his final preparations for tonight.

A nervous thrill runs through him, nothing that can be properly called a shiver. He finds that he is smiling for no reason at all.

It's finally happening.

****

Eggsy looks very dashing today in the charcoal pinstriped suit he usually pairs with a lavender tie. Harry stares maybe a little bit longer than is appropriate, prompting Eggsy to give him a wink and a big grin.

On any other day Harry might be stung that he was caught staring like a schoolboy. Today he just smiles back, thinks about tonight, and feels his heart start to race. In a matter of hours he and Eggsy will be united forever. It's an incredible thought.

Merlin meets them at the shop. He looks disgruntled, and when they sit at the dining room table, he nearly slams his clipboard down. "Eggsy, I need you in the armoury today. Someone who shall remain nameless – and possibly jobless – in Berlin has misplaced the inventory count. I need those numbers as soon as possible."

Eggsy makes a sour face, but he nods glumly.

Merlin fixes him with a firm stare. "We need an accurate count," he says. "If even one of our pistols goes missing and is unaccounted for, that is our entire organisation at risk. And I don't think I need to remind you what happened the last time we were exposed."

This is a very cheap shot, and very un-Merlinlike. It works, though. Eggsy looks down at the table and says nothing.

"And you, Harry," Merlin says. "Inventory in the shop. We might as well while we're at it."

Harry sits up a little bit straighter. He didn't expect to be roped into the charade. But then again, it's work that does need to be done. And it's something he can easily finish by lunch, which means his getaway this afternoon can be accomplished without any guilt over a task left undone.

"Cheer up lads," Merlin says in a hearty voice. "We can all have lunch here and recount our tales." He chuckles a little at his own bad pun.

Eggsy kind of rolls his eyes; Harry can't blame him. The meeting adjourned, they all stand up and head out to their tasks.

Inventory is boring, but necessary. It would normally be a fairly quick job, but Eggsy keeps sauntering in from the armoury to talk (and one time to steal a quick kiss). Harry encourages him, knowing that the longer it takes for Eggsy to finish, the easier it will be to keep him occupied all afternoon.

Roxy Morton arrives shortly before noon, bringing with her a pastry box from Merlin's favourite bakery. She gives Harry a bright, conspiratorial smile which he doesn't deign to acknowledge, then heads up to the dining room.

Eggsy groans in relief. "Does this mean it's lunchtime?"

Lunch is nothing fancy, just a thick soup and some sandwiches. The bakery box turns out to contain a small apple tart, which happens to be Harry's favourite. He has two slices and no regrets.

Half an hour after lunch, he sends Eggsy a text. _I'm not feeling well. Bit of an upset stomach. I've gone home so I can rest._

He's sitting in the back of a cab as he hits Send. Here is the part of his plan that he feels most guilty about. But if all goes well tonight -- and he hopes more than anything that it will -- it will be something he and Eggsy can laugh about in the future.

Eggsy's response is predictably fast. _U ok? I can come home 2._

 _I'm fine_ , Harry writes. _Just need to lie down for a bit._ He thinks about adding, "and the loo," then thinks better of it. The best lies are simple; there's no need to overdo it.

 _Ok_ , Eggsy texts. _Let me know how ur doing._

 _I will_ , Harry promises. He hits Send just as the cab pulls up to their house.

****

Eggsy texts a few times throughout the afternoon, checking on Harry and sharing stories about how boring the inventory count is. He says once that Roxy has shown up to assist, which makes Harry smile; he is certain Roxy's "help" is actually meant as a distraction, to keep Eggsy at a task which should not normally take this long.

Then at last, just before 4:00, comes the message he's been waiting for. _Merlin says I can go so I'm coming home. Want me 2 pick up anything for u?_

From his spot in the park, Harry texts, _No thank you._

And then he settles down to wait.

He pictures it all in his mind. Eggsy saying good-night to Merlin, to Andrew behind the counter and the other tailors. Normally Eggsy would walk home, even in chilly weather, but today he will want to get back to Harry as quickly as possible: he will hail a cab and sit in the backseat, drumming his fingers restlessly on his thigh, holding his phone just in case he gets any new texts.

Eggsy will arrive at home, hurrying to close the door behind him. He will call Harry's name, his coat still on. When he doesn't get an answer, he will go upstairs, a bit more quietly now, assuming Harry is asleep.

But he will find an empty bedroom. He will stand there for a moment, briefly puzzled. A quick glance at the open bathroom door will confirm Harry is not there. The bed is still perfectly made, just the way it was this morning when they left for the shop.

Eggsy will go back downstairs. He will head for the kitchen, and the laundry room that opens off it, with the door leading to the back garden. But then he will stop, suddenly seeing the note propped up on the dining room table.

_Meet me in the park._

Here though, Harry's certainty breaks down. It could go one of two ways now. Eggsy could text Merlin and demand to know further details about the nature of Harry's illness and how he seemed when he left. Or he could send Harry himself a text, asking if he's all right, letting him know that he's on the way.

Either way, he will be stepping out of the house right around now, blue eyes keen and alert. He will be in a hurry, but still take the time to look all around, checking for any sign that he's being watched, that this is a trap. He will be distacted, but not enough that he forgets to lock the front door behind him. He won't have even taken his coat off.

Harry brushes a bit of lint off his coat and settles himself on the park bench where he's been sitting for the last half hour. The sun is starting to go down and light is leaving the sky. He's timed it perfectly; it will still be light when Eggsy arrives, but sunset is not too far off.

His phone chimes. He pulls it out of his coat pocket and glances quickly at it; it's too early by far to expect Eggsy to arrive even if he is flat out running. But still the last thing he wants is for Eggsy's first glimpse of him to be when he's on his phone.

 _Everything ok?_ The text is from Eggsy.

Harry smiles a little and puts the phone back in his pocket. He stands up, looks around to make sure everything is in its place, even though nothing has been touched since he first got here, and finally remembers to breathe.

Only a few minutes to go.

The sun sinks lower in the sky. Shadows stretch out over the park. And at last Eggsy appears.

Harry stands perfectly still. He knows very well what picture he has created, what Eggsy is seeing. He has left nothing to chance.

He stands in front of the wooden bench wearing his best black suit; his tie is a deep burgundy, a present from Eggsy when the shop re-opened for business. The cooler containing the alcohol, ice, and glasses is safely hidden behind one of the trees. All Eggsy can see right now is Harry himself.

"You okay?" Eggsy looks puzzled. He's still wearing the charcoal suit, and his hair is still perfectly styled. When he came around the curve in the path he was walking fast, but now his pace slows as he takes in the scene before him. "What's going on?"

Since deciding that he was really going to do this, Harry has alternated between anxious worry that he is making an enormous mistake, and confidence that he is doing the right thing. Now he stands before Eggsy and he feels all his earlier worries melt away. This is exactly where he should be right now. This is exactly what he should be doing.

Eggsy walks up and stops when he's a few feet away. "Harry?" He sounds worried.

Harry hesitates. He's written this speech so many times, in so many different ways. Never on actual paper, though, or any electronic device; he would never leave such incriminating evidence around. No, all these words have existed only in his head, different varieties on the same theme, different ways of saying the same thing. Asking the same question.

Eggsy moves a step closer. He watches Harry closely, even a bit warily, maybe wondering if Harry is seeing butterflies again. "Seriously, what the fuck is going on?"

Only Eggsy would swear like that at his own proposal. And it takes Harry back to that first day, standing before the mirror in dressing room one, ready to embark on the greatest adventure of his life. An adventure he would not be making alone.

And after all, isn't that precisely why he's here now?

"I've been doing a lot of thinking lately," he says. "About us, and our future together."

Instantly Eggsy's expression changes. He goes from puzzled to quietly neutral, his face revealing nothing of his thoughts. But behind his eyes something vital and vibrant abruptly closes off; there can be no doubt that he is preparing himself for the worst.

This too Harry had anticipated, so he does not prolong the moment. "What I've come to realise is something I in fact already knew," he says. "Something I've known almost from the day we met."

He reaches into his pocket as he smoothly drops to one knee. "Eggsy, I would love nothing more than to spend the rest of my life with you." He offers up the small box with the ring nestled inside. "Would you marry me?"

Eggsy's jaw drops. He stares down at Harry, his eyes wide and shining. "Oh my God," he chokes out. He looks at the box, meets Harry’s gaze, then looks back at the box. "Oh my God."

Still on one knee, Harry waits.

"Fuck," Eggsy breathes. A huge smile spreads across his face. “Yes. Yes. Oh fuck. Yes!”

He leans in, and Harry stands to meet him. They embrace tightly, Eggsy rising onto his toes a little. "Oh my God, Harry," Eggsy says into his neck. His shoulders shake, but it's quite all right; he's laughing, not crying.

Harry kisses him, Eggsy, his Eggsy, and it's the sweetest kiss they've ever shared. Maybe because it's the first one since they officially decided to spend their lives together. Maybe because he's never been more in love.

"So let's see it," Eggsy says excitedly, and Harry hands him the ring box. "I can't believe you..." He trails off as he opens the box and sees the ring inside. "Oh fuck."

Harry just stands there with an absurd smile on his face. This entire scene has been so wonderfully Eggsy, a perfect blend of the sweet and the profane. Is it any wonder he loves Eggsy so much?

"It's engraved," he says as Eggsy carefully lifts the ring from its velvety nest.

"Yeah," Eggsy breathes, barely audible. He turns the ring over, peering at the date so elegantly written there. "What is…" Then he gets it. "The day I called you." He shakes his head, but he's smiling. "I can’t believe you,” he says again.

The ring is a perfect fit. Eggsy holds his hand out, admiring the look of it on his finger. Overhead the sun is barely visible anymore, but there’s still enough light to reflect off the metal and momentarily dazzle Harry's sight.

Eggsy hurls himself forward, into Harry's waiting arms. "You're mental, you know."

"I'm aware," Harry says dryly. They release each other and step back a little, and over the pounding of his heart, Harry takes the last step on this crazy journey. "So here we are, ready for our lifetime of devotion." He smiles happily, expectantly.

Eggsy's bright expression turns a bit puzzled. "Huh?"

In the back of his head an alarm starts to go off, but Harry forges ahead anyway. He's helpless not to. "What you said that night. Or sang, rather."

Now Eggsy looks downright bewildered. "Harry, what the fuck are you talking about?"

It's as though he were suddenly doused in cold water. Harry feels the same sharp chill permeate him all the way down to his bones. "I thought..."

He can't finish. He sees now how utterly ludicrous he has been. Merlin had tried to tell him, but he had refused to listen. He has been so certain he was right that he hadn't listened to anyone. 

But Merlin is correct again. Sometimes a song really is just a song. 

"I apologise," he says stiffly. "I was under the impression that this was something you wanted."

Now Eggsy looks completely confused. And a little bit angry. "What the _fuck_ are you on about?" he almost shouts. "I _do_ want this! I said yes, didn't I?"

There is no denying that. Or the happiness he saw shining in Eggsy's eyes. A happiness that is nowhere in sight now.

"But you…" Here Harry stops, not because he's run out of things to say, but because Eggsy's lips are on his, silencing him. This is not a sweet kiss, but a demand. This is an order to shut the fuck up.

Harry complies.

"Listen," Eggsy says. He backs away just far enough to be able to look Harry in the eye; his arms are still locked about Harry's neck. "Whatever I said, or sang, I guess" -- he makes a _whatever_ gesture, a quick shake of his head -- "I ain't complaining. I do want to marry you. I'm fucking over the moon right now. So whatever you was just thinking, stop it. Okay? Cause this is gonna happen."

Harry stares at him. This close he can see the shifting colour in Eggsy's eyes and feel the warmth of his breath. He can see the way Eggsy's lips are slightly reddened from their kiss, and feel the light drag of Eggsy's arms on his shoulders.

"I love you," Eggsy says. "We're gonna get married. Okay?" He smiles, a bit hesitantly at first, then with increasing confidence.

Harry nods. "Yes," he says. "We are."

Eggsy's smile is more natural now. The light returns to his eyes. "Fuck yeah, we are." He gives Harry another kiss.

All is forgiven, but Harry isn't likely to forget his blunder any time soon. He has brought about a monumental change in their lives, and all based on a complete misunderstanding. Eggsy wasn't dropping hints that night. He was just singing a song, having fun as he worked, trying to turn a mindless chore into something more pleasant.

 _Good God_ , he thinks. _If I were any more besotted, I would have gone down on one knee that very night!_

Now there's a thought. What would Eggsy have done? Would he still have accepted?

"Fucking stop it," Eggsy snaps, and Harry is startled back to the present moment.

Eggsy is staring at him with some irritation. "What'd I just say? Stop it," he says. "Everything's going so great. Just…" He exhales and his expression changes to something more fond, more warm. "I don't know what you're thinking and I don't wanna know."

"Actually," Harry says, "I was thinking that I put some gin and ice in a cooler and I was hoping I wouldn't forget them."

Eggsy gives him a sideways look of suspicion for half a heartbeat longer, having a healthy -- and rightful -- scepticism about this sudden change of mood, but his own good spirits won't let him stay suspicious. "Martinis?"

"Of course," Harry says. "Would you expect anything else?"

Eggsy laughs, bright and loud, so happy, and Harry would do anything, anything, to keep him this happy. "Fuck no."

"Then shall we have a toast?" Harry asks. He turns away, and Eggsy pulls his arms back, releasing him.

"What are we gonna toast to?" Eggsy asks slyly. As if he doesn't know.

Harry doesn't respond. He just walks behind the tree where he's hidden the cooler and pulls it out. During the worst of his anxieties this week, he had thought that if Eggsy said no, he could always just stay here and use the alcohol to drown his sorrows and soothe his hurts.

Deep down, though, he had always known it would end like this.

Eggsy plays with his ring while Harry mixes their martinis, rotating it around his finger, running his thumb over the curve of the band. When Harry holds out his drink he drops his hand with an almost guilty look, and takes it quickly.

“To us,” Harry says. He raises his glass. “To our future.”

“I’ll drink to that,” Eggsy says.

They drink, the polite sips they were each taught. Harry remembers that night, the twenty-four hours he had with Eggsy. Before the church, before Statesman, before months of unexpectedly painful separation. He had wanted so badly to kiss Eggsy that night, to hold him close and touch his face. He had wanted to see if Eggsy’s eyes would be more blue or green when he was flushed with lust.

He had known it was wrong, but that wasn’t what had stopped him. No, what had stayed his hand was the near-certainty that if he acted, Eggsy would reciprocate. And when they were found out, as they surely would be, that would be all the excuse Chester King would need to throw Eggsy out for good.

One thing Harry will never do is stand in Eggsy’s way. The whole world seemed to conspire against Eggsy for most of his life, until the day he made that fateful phone call. He has so much to give; Harry will never be the one to tell him no.

“So what are we gonna do now?” Eggsy asks.

"I thought we could get some dinner," Harry says. He sips again from his drink. He made them strong, but not so much that they're unpalatable. "Give you a chance to show off your new accessory."

Eggsy grins. "Yeah, all right," he says. "And then?"

"And then," Harry says, "I thought we could go home and fuck each other's brains out."

Eggsy's grin then outshines even the sun. "Oh, Harry. You read my fucking mind."

********

Epilogue

 

Part of being a good spy is having a good memory; there are plenty of moments in his life that Harry remembers with crystalline clarity, despite wishing he could forget. But today is one event he is glad to impress upon his memory.

He never wants to forget a single second of this day.

Eggsy is stunning in his black tuxedo, smiling at his mother as they dance to one of the few slow songs his mate Brandon brought on his DJ equipment. Had the weather held, the ceremony and reception would have been in one of the manor's gardens, but the rain and wind instead made them hold the wedding in a large gilt ballroom. The manor house itself is very old and advertises itself as the perfect venue for a wedding – and so far Harry has to admit they are right.

"Harry." Merlin walks up to him with a smile. In his kilt and sporran he looks every inch the proud Scot he is. He was ordained years ago, long before the Internet made it a popular thing for the average person, and there was never any doubt that he would perform the ceremony.

"Merlin." Harry smiles at him.

"You look happy," Merlin says. He's a bit flushed in the face, having had more to drink than usual.

"I am," Harry says simply.

From his vantage point near the rear of the ballroom, he gazes out over the crowd. It's hard not to attend this type of event and leave the spy behind; it's habit to observe everyone and analyse their behaviour.

He sees Roxy dancing with her girlfriend, a tall black lady named Eve who supposedly works at the Treasury. She's far too familiar with spy behaviour for Harry to believe that cover story, though; as he watches them, he sees Eve looking right back at him with the same cool scrutiny, and he nods to her.

He sees Alistair and the other Kingsmen, their native reserve having been slowly overcome by Eggsy's friendliness – and admittedly the excellent quality of the alcohol that's been freely flowing all evening.

He sees Eggsy himself, hugging his mother and giving her a kiss, then both of them turning to the table where Daisy sits with Michelle's boyfriend. They give the little girl a wave, but she's oblivious to them, her attention occupied by a drawing program on her tablet.

"I'm glad," Merlin says as the song ends. Couples break apart and start to drift back to the tables covered in white linen and half-empty glasses. There aren't many guests here, and they are a strange mixture of Eggsy's old mates and Kingsman staff, but so far Harry has seen several unlikely friendships arise. "You two deserve it."

Harry just nods, accepting the compliment.

Across the floor, Eggsy walks over to the console where his friend sits with some rather high-tech DJ equipment. After a short conference, he walks away again, this time holding a microphone.

"Ooh," Merlin says. "I'd say you're on your own for this one." He claps Harry on the shoulder, then moves away.

Eggsy taps the microphone twice, testing it. He looks around, spots Harry and grins at him. Then he raises the microphone.

“My mum says I shouldn’t do this,” he says with a cheeky grin aimed in Michelle’s direction. “But it’s my wedding and I’m paying this bloke.” He points at Brandon standing behind the DJ table, and the two of them laugh.

“But seriously.” Eggsy looks out at them, a bit flushed from maybe one too many martinis and energetic dances with his little sister. “Thanks for being here. It really means a lot to me and Harry.”

There’s some applause at this, and a few raucous cheers from Eggsy’s mates. The guests are a small number, not quite fifty of them, but the fact that they are here at all is what matters.

“We all been through some shit,” Eggsy says.

“Eggsy!” Michelle’s scandalised voice cuts him off, provoking some laughter from the crowd.

Eggsy flushes and shoots a guilty look to where his mother and sister sit. Daisy is happily preoccupied with her tablet though, and Harry doubts she even heard the offending word. It’s for certain that she’s heard worse before.

"Anyway," Eggsy says, moving on. He looks over their guests again, and his gaze stops on Harry. "I had something I wanted to say. Well, sort of." He grins and winks, then nods at Brandon.

Before the first note sounds, Harry knows what the song will be. He’s actually been expecting this all night. And, well, he can’t say he doesn’t deserve it.

Eggsy grins as he sings the song that started it all. He looks straight into Harry’s eyes. And though it’s a joke, Harry knows he also means every last word of it.

_If you feel like giving me a lifetime of devotion, I second that emotion._

Harry raises his glass in his left hand; he has a ring now too, silver to match the one encircling Eggsy’s finger. He smiles as he makes his silent toast.

Eggsy smiles back and goes right on singing.

Harry gazes at him from across the room. For a fleeting moment he wishes he too was a singer, so he could join in.

But it’s not the singing that matters. It’s not even the song. It’s the words and the story being told. It’s the wish for a life spent together.

Their life.


End file.
